SPIRAL
by SANDEFUR
Summary: A crossover between Joan of Arcadia and the movie, Spiral.
1. Chapter 1

SPIRAL

By SANDEFUR

7-4-05/Monday Evening

On the top floor of the Arcadia Herald, a large Independence Day party was in full swing. A few people still lingered in the executive dining room, enjoying the lavish buffet, but most of the large crowd had moved on to one of two viewing spots for the upcoming fireworks display.

Most of the men were on the wind swept roof, enjoying drinks and cigars while waiting for the show. The wealthy and powerful mixed with various community leaders, and while the occasional high-powered deal was ironed out in cautious whispers, the majority were simply enjoying the party. That included Capt. Will Girardi, head of the detective division of the Hogan County Sheriff's Department.

Will and Helen had been personally invited by their host, Ryan Hunter. To Will's delight, he and Ryan had struck up a mutual friendship, and now he often found himself circulating amongst the city's wheeler-dealers. Without the friendship of the young newspaper publisher, Will would have been ostracized by such people for having arrested so many of their friends in the political scandal of two years ago. But with Ryan's support, Will found himself hailed as a corruption-fighting hero. Will felt both amused and flattered by such attention.

Just below, in Ryan's huge, luxurious office (complete with private elevator), most of the women were gathered. The roof's high winds were incompatible with expensive hair-dos and willowy summer dresses. Helen Girardi circulated freely in the mostly female crowd, sipping her wine and looking for one particular woman.

"Hello Rebecca."

Rebecca Askew turned from the window and smiled as she recognized Helen. "Mrs. Girardi, hello again. I'm glad you found me. We've barely had a chance to exchange two words all night."

"That's because you're the most sought after woman here, at least by other women. I wish I could say I approached you with noble reasons, but I'm as desperate for gossip as everyone else. So tell me, what's it like dating Ryan Hunter?'

Rebecca charmingly blushed before answering. "Sorry, I can't dish you any juicy tidbits, because the private Mr. Hunter is no different than the public one. He's sexy, smart, charming and always kind."

"But surely in your private time alone, you have managed to learn more about him—his true nature, his past, his hopes for the future?"

"You know how some men are emotionally repressed and keep everything bottled up inside of themselves?"

"Yes, I'm familiar with that 99 percent of the male population."

"Well, Ryan is like their king. Getting Ryan to open up is like trying to chip through a steel wall with a toothpick."

"How sad, especially for you and any long term plans you may have."

"No problems there. Ryan made it very clear when we started dating that he wasn't interested in any form of commitment. Normally I wouldn't be tempted by a casual fling, but, well…"

"He's just so damn hot."

Rebecca gave a guilty laugh, and glanced around to make sure they couldn't be overheard. "I haven't told anyone this, but I've been as curious about Ryan as everyone else. I even did a little snooping into his background, but couldn't find anything of interest. When I asked him about his past, he made the excuse that his parent's divorce made it too painful to talk about, even though they have both passed on."

"So he has no family?"

Rebecca rechecked their privacy before answering. "That's the impression he likes to give, but last week he received a birthday card from a Dr. John Hunter of Los Angeles. He muttered something about his 'damn brother' before he shredded the card!"

"Wow, I bet there's a helluva story behind that."

"Which I'm dying to know, but Ryan clammed up tighter than usual, and made it clear the topic was verboten."

"Then we better change subjects, because Ryan is headed this way."

Ryan, playing the part of the charming host to the hilt, was escorting a plump, grey-haired man of sixty over to meet them. Helen realized Ryan was doing this as a special treat for her, but she wished he wouldn't. The man was a world renown artist that Helen had often expressed admiration for, and she had recognized him at the start of the party. Unfortunately, he was thoroughly drunk and crudely hitting on every woman he met. Helen preferred her heroes not to have feet of clay.

After greeting Rebecca with a brief kiss, Ryan made the introductions. "Rebecca Askew, Helen Girardi allow me to introduce our famous visitor, Eric Goetz."

Helen responded, "Mr. Goetz's fame is well known and well deserved. Sir, it's a honor to meet you. Your portraits of the world's famous and powerful are inspirational. I always point you out to my students as a daring innovator worth emulating."

"As well you should. After all, I'm…I'm brilliant." Goetz replied in a drunken slur with a slight European accent.

Rebecca said, "Mr. Goetz, I understand you are teaching a month long seminar at Arcadia College? That's something you've never done before."

"A favor. Wouldn't bother with such dribble, but a favor, for Ryan. Nothing! Nothing I wouldn't do for him. Saved my life, ya know?"

"Oh really? Please tell us more."

Ryan smiled. "All I did was give him some financial advice."

Goetz nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Yes he did. Had all…all my money invested in that dot com nonsense a few years ago. Ryan warned me to get out before the bubble burst. Otherwise I would have been poor, and I couldn't live poor. Tried it once when I was young, and I didn't like it…" Goetz paused to gather his thoughts. He stared at Helen, or rather her breasts, and said, "Ryan tells me you're an artist."

"Little more than an amateur. I teach high school art."

"Then you must want to get better. So why didn't ya apply for, uh, that thing at the college?"

"It never occurred to me to try. Besides, you have to submit an example of your best work, and I didn't have anything appropriate that is ready."

Ryan held up a large manila envelope. "What about this?" He removed a 16 X 24 photograph and displayed it to all. Helen froze in shock. It was her abstract—the one she had burned.

"How did you get this? Where did it come from?"

"Ken Thompson from the Franklin Gallery took a photo with his camera phone and saved it even after all this time. I had the Herald's photo department enhance the image as much as possible. What do you think, Eric?"

Goetz studied the photo and nodded. "It's good. Too bad the original isn't available. Did you sell it for a huge fee?"

Helen hesitated a moment. "Actually, I burned it."

"You burned this glorious painting—your best work? Madame, you are utterly mad."

"Sir, I…"

"I love that in an artist! You're in. Class begins tomorrow at noon. Ungodly hour…" Muttering, Goetz walked away—giving Helen a quick pinch on the bottom as he left.

The others didn't notice, and Helen didn't make an issue of the indignity. It had been a long time since a man had been so blatant with her, and Helen was mostly amused (and just a little bit flattered). After all, she had been 'hand-picked' to be in a class taught by Eric Goetz! Even if the man was a pig at parties, he was still one of the greatest artists of the day.

X X X X X

7-5-05/Tuesday Midday

Helen arrived at the appropriate classroom only a couple of minutes before the start of class, due mostly to her unfamiliarity with Arcadia College. She was sorry to see she was the last to arrive, and was surprised to see Goetz was already there. Considering the prodigious amount of alcohol he consumed last night, it was amazing he had shown up at all. He sat at the front of the class wearing dark glasses and breathing from an oxygen tank.

"Mr. Goetz, are you okay?"

He smiled and tapped the green oxygen tank. "Twenty minutes of pure oxygen, a guaranteed cure for any hangover. Take your seat Mrs. Girardi. I've divided the class into male/female teams."

Helen hurried to the only empty seat in the class of 50, who were a wide variety of people of all ages. Helen recognized a few of them as fellow artists on the local scene. She was sharing a table with a young man in his late twenties, who seemed quite ordinary except for the way he avoided all eye contact. Uh-oh, Helen recognized the signs of someone painfully shy, and for whom all social interaction was an ordeal.

"Hello, I'm Helen. Looks like we're partners for this class." she softly said.

He nodded, gulped and responded while staring at the floor, "Mason."

At precisely noon, Goetz stood and addressed the class. "Those of you who came here thinking you would learn how to paint like Eric Goetz have wasted your time and money. As great as I am, the world doesn't need 50 inferior clones of me. What the world does need is the 50 of you being the best damn artists you can be. Before you, under those cloths, are the submissions that got you in this class. You 50 are the elite who were good enough to be here. You should be proud of that, because it will be the last moment of pride you will exoerience this month. MEN, you will get first chance to critique your partner's work. Be brutally honest. Ladies, reveal your hidden beauty!"

All over the classroom, the women unveiled their artwork. Helen revealed the photograph of her painting and waited while Mason stared at her work.

"It's beautiful, and I don't usually like abstract art. The colors are bold, and what I can tell of the brushwork, you were confident and uninhibited."

Helen breathed a sigh of relief, not just because he liked her work, but because Mason could speak normally when it came to art. "I'm sorry I only have a photograph. You see, shortly after painting this, I burned it."

Mason chuckled. "Maybe that's why Mr. Goetz put us together. Under here is a reproduction of a painting I did of my ex-girlfriend. When our relationship...ended, I took all the sketches and paintings I did of her and threw them in the dumpster."

Helen chuckled too. "We're a perfect match."

Goetz again addressed the class. "And now it's the guys turn. Men, expose yourselves!"

All over the class the men unveiled their work. Mason hesitated. "I should warn you, it's a nude."

"I'm not easily offended."

Mason revealed his painting and Helen gasped. The lovely young model had her bare back to the artist while she coyly glanced over her shoulder. She wore a come-hither smile that no man could resist. The painting was a brillant expression of passionate adoration. It was beautiful. It was sensual. It was JOAN.

TBC PLEASE REVIEW

Before anyone points it out, I freely admit to playing fast and loose with the timeline. The events in Spiral occur in the late autumn of '07, but I have set my story in the summer of 2005.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

"You sick, disgusting pervert. How dare you show this to me?"

"Excuse me…?"

"I don't know how you talked my daughter into posing for you, but Joan is only 17! There are laws about this sort of thing, and my husband is a cop. I swear, if you laid one finger on my precious little girl…"

Helen paused, confused by the expression on Mason's face. He was utterly bewildered, and looking at her as if she had lost her mind.

"H-Helen, I don't know what you are talking about. This painting is of an old girlfriend from when I lived in Portland."

"Do you think I don't know my own daughter? This is Joan Girardi, and she's never been to Maine."

"Oregon. Portland Oregon. I don't know what to say. This is Amber, and we used to work together at an insurance company. I've never met your daughter."

Helen hesitated and more closely examined the painting. Okay, he had given her red hair and somehow had made her appear older… Perhaps as old as her mid-twenties.

"'Amber,' you say?"

"I swear. I'm really not in the habit of painting minors in the nude. As I said, Amber and I used to date, but I haven't seen her in months."

"This…this is bizarre. Anyone who knows Joan would swear this was her with red hair."

"I guess what they say is true, everyone had a doppleganger some where. I'm as amazed as you are. Amber was unique. The loveliest girl I ever…ah, ever knew."

Mason blushed and resumed staring at the floor. Clearly he was embarrassed by the intimate nature of his relationship with his model. Before Helen could respond, Goetz again addressed the class.

"Now that you've had your fun ripping each other's work apart—at least I hope you had sense enough to do that—it's time to get serious. Everyone, exchange your piece with your partner's."

Helen easily moved her work over to Mason, after all, it was just a photograph. Like a parent leaving his child at school for the first time, Mason slowly slid his beloved painting over to her.

"It's so easy to criticize someone else's work when you didn't pour your creative sweat and blood into the piece. Your assignment , my lovelies, for when we return on Friday, is to duplicate the work you've been handed. In fact, I expect you to produce an even better version. This next time I will critique your new work and see if we can't deflate any puffy egos out there."

Laughing at his own cleverness, Goetz began a lecture on his philosophy of art and life. As he regaled the class with one amusing anecdote after another, his students were hard pressed to stay focused on his words. Every one of them was already dreading what Friday might bring.

X X X X X

After class, Helen invited Mason for coffee. She desperately wanted to know more about this Amber girl, but Mason just as desperately didn't want to go into details. He made the excuse of having to get to work, even though Mason's "job" didn't begin for hours. Hastily he grabbed a city bus and rode in his usual frightened silence back to his small apartment.

Once home, Mason made himself a late lunch—his usual of a peanut butter sandwich, an apple and milk. It helped to have routines. They kept him from thinking too much. If he kept himself focused on his art and his love of jazz, he could keep himself from sliding back into that place of dark terror.

Mason tried to concentrate on what he was going to play on his show tonight—a two hour tribute to Miles Davis. It surprised people that super awkward Mason could be an effective speaker when he didn't have to deal with people face-to-face. It was what had made him a successful telemarketer when he had worked at J.Z.D.& J. insurance, and it was what had secured him his new job as a volunteer DJ at the public radio station.

For a couple of hours every night, Mason played the music of the jazz greats, took requests and had lively debates about what was or wasn't pure jazz. In three months he had developed a cult following, and the only price he extracted was the occasional plug for his artwork on sale at a half dozen local coffeee houses and bistros. His paintings of smoky jazz clubs, and reproductions of classic jazz albums, sold as quickly as he could produce them. He had never made so much money. Berekley would be proud.

Berekley. It was odd how rarely he thought of his old friend these days, especially since he was the reason Mason had fled Portland. Friends since high school, Berekley understood why Mason had turned into that creepy guy that no one liked. When he was a kid, Mason's mother had been brutally murdered by his insane father. Afterwards, Berekley had become Mason's self-appointed protector and keeper of all his secrets.

Berekley knew about his women. Heck, he even supplied the sketchbooks that began the cycle. Mason would take the new sketchbook and begin drawing in a public place. Inevitably, a pretty young woman would be drawn to him like a moth to a flame. After a simple, flattering line drawing, the woman would always want more. They would meet for coffee or a walk in the park and Mason would sketch her. Eventually they would begin to date, and then they would come to his apartment so he could paint them. That always led to the nude painting (always in the same pose), followed by them becoming lovers. Then he would murder them.

After disposing of the body in a dumpster, Mason would wait to see if he had gotten away with it. He always did. But then the downward spiral of guilt and remorse would come. He was a psychopathic monster—how could he go on living like this? He would awake screaming in the middle of the night as he endlessly relived the horrible things he had done. He would call Berekley crying and trembling with fear, and always, his friend would assure him that everything was okay.

Only it wasn't okay. Mason would continue losing his grip on his "normal" life until, sobbing uncontrolably, he would confess his murder to Berekley and ask him to call the police. Then in a scene they had played out many times, Berekley would explain that it was all in Mason's head. He would force Mason to accurately remember all the time he was out with these women, and how no other person ever interacted with them, and how he didn't even know their last names. They were imaginary women and imaginary murders.

Both relieved from his guilt and alarmed by his own insanity, Mason would enter a mental fog in which his "crimes" would fade from memory, except for the occasional flashback and the ritual handwashing that never seemed to remove the blood from his hands. During these times he would enter a deep depression, and only then would his work suffer. Berekley, who was also Mason's sales manager, could protect his friend's job for just so long. In the end, the only thing that would perk Mason back up was another new sketchbook.

Amber was the last one. Mason had liked her best. She was more real than any of the others, and Mason had shared more of his life with her than anyone else. Also, she had shared more of her life with him. How she hated her job, her boss and how she wasn't doing well on the job. She had embraced his love of jazz and had shared her love of classic movies. He loved her, and he killed her.

When he had made his usual confession to Berekley, it had been the last straw. Mason had become a pest who was ruining his life. After all, the main reason he looked after Mason was because it made him feel good about himself. It was his way of saying to the world, 'See, I'm not the sleazy, selfish jerk you think I am. I'm the only one who cares about this pathetic loser.' But this time Berekely had been mean and unsympathetic as he explained AGAIN what a nut job Mason was. And, he made it clear he wouldn't go on with this any more.

This time there was no restful amnesia for Mason. He continued to remember Amber clearly, and he was frightened by what Berekley might do. What if he reported him to the authorities? They would lock him away for having imaginary conversations with imaginary people. He would end up like his father—wearing a straight jacket in a padded cell for the rest of his life.

And so, Mason had fled Portland with a simple plan. He would spend a year on his own without slipping back into his pattern of madness. (Remembering he was insane helped a lot.) At the end of the year, he would go home and show Berekley he could be a friend who wasn't such a horrible, crazy pest. But months had gone by and Mason had remained relatively stable and free of his murder fantasy. He liked Arcadia, and was making a life for himself. Was it possible he didn't need Berekley?

But now it was all back in his life. Why had he recreated his painting of Amber? For some stupid class? And why was that crazy Helen woman insisting her daughter was a near twin for Amber? Amber was never real… Right?

X X X X X

Will Girardi arrived home at his usual hour, but he was in a foul mood. Last night, while he had attended that ritzy party, someone had burned down a teen center that was sponsored by the Catholic Church. The facility had been an inner-city oasis that kept hundreds of kids off the streets and out of trouble. The arson was part of a growing pattern of anti-religious attacks that had plagued Arcadia for months. As usual, there were no clues and no suspects.

"Hello? Where is everybody?" he called out as he entered from the back door. Odd, usually the table was set and dinner was ready to be served.

"Will, I'm upstairs." Helen shouted back.

He hurried up to their bedroom and found Helen standing next to an easel with a covered painting on it.

"Helen, is everything okay? Where are the kids?"

"Kevin had a date with Lily, and I sent Joan and Luke out to eat so we could be alone."

"Oh yeah? It's been a long time since we got the kids out of the way. Did you have something particularly naughty in mind?"

"Will, I don't know how else to ask you this except to be blunt about it. Do you have a love child some where that you never told me about?"

Will stared blankly at her for a beat before responding. "If this is some sort of joke, I don't get it."

"I'm serious. Is there any possibility you fathered a child before we were married?"

"No, of course not. Helen, you know the kind of man I am. Can you imagine me fathering a kid and just walking away like nothing had happened?"

"No. but could someone have kept such a child secret from you?"

"I wasn't exactly a monk when we met, but I wasn't some wild swinger either. There's no way one of my ex-girlfriends could have had a kid without me hearing about it. What brought this on?"

"I'll show you. Keep in mind, this isn't Joan."

Helen whipped away the covering, revealing the Amber portrait. She watched Will closely for his reaction. All she saw was shock.

"Will, were you ever in Portland?"

Slowly, Will's body seemed to sag under the weight of the moment. He sighed heavily and murmured…

"Jade."

TBC PLEASE REVIEW


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

"Who the hell is Jade?"

"Someone…I haven't thought of in years. You remember my old friend Bob Geiger?"

"Uh sure, you and he were buddies in college. The first couple of years we were married, we exchanged Christmas cards with him and his wife…oh God, they lived in Portland."

"Right after graduation, Bob got a job out there, and a few months later he called me up and asked me to be his best man at his wedding. I flew out that weekend and arrived just in time to attend his bachelor party. There was a stripper at the party who was going by the name of Jade."

"I thought the stripper was suppose to sleep with the groom—one last fling before the the wedding."

"What can I say, Bob was in love and not interested. Jade and I kind of hit it off, and she spent the night in my hotel room. The next morning she was gone and so was all the cash from my wallet."

"Why have you kept this secret all these years?"

"Why do you think? I was ashamed. There I was, a young cop fresh out of the academy, and I get robbed by a woman who was little better than a hooker. I put the experience out of my mind and a month later I met you."

"What did Jade look like?"

"Young, slender, about five-seven…with red hair." Will looked to the painting and winced. "Could we cover that up? It's very disconcerting."

Helen complied with the request and asked, "How will we ever break this news to the kids?"

"What? There's no way we are telling them about this."

"Will, we can't keep this secret. We can't repeat the mistake we made with your brother Richard."

"But we don't know for sure that the girl in this painting is really my kid, and how the hell did you get ahold of that thing?"

"My new art class. Mr. Goetz had us team up with another artist and exchange our works so we could try duplicating our partner's piece. When Mason showed me his painting, I freaked! I was certain he had some how gotten Joan to pose for him, but of course that's ridiculous. It turns out this is Mason's former girlfriend, Amber."

Will sat on the bed and shook his head in disbelief. "This is a nightmare. I may have a grown daughter named Amber. This Mason character, did he give any details about her?"

"Very few, and after my reaction, he got very tight-lipped. He's one of those quiet, shy people who can't stand any scrutiny of his life."

"He will open up when I flash my badge."

"Will, no, you can't use your police authority in a private matter like this—especially if you want to keep this quiet."

"But…I have to know more."

"I understand, but we have to handle this with some discretion. My next class is Friday. Why don't you plan on being there right after class, and if we're careful not to spook Mason, I'm sure we can get him to open up about Amber."

Reluctantly, Will nodded his agreement.

X X X X X

7-6-05/Wednesday Morning

Will sat at his office desk reviewing a case file while drumming his fingers. He was anxiously awaiting an important call, and the lack of progress on the latest arson case didn't help his mood. Whoever was behind this string of attacks on religious targets was clever and well organized. While the city had been staring up at the fireworks display, the arsonists had easily torched the teen center and had made good their escape unseen.

Jean, his secretary, briefly poked her head in. "Will, that call from Bob Geiger is on line five."

Will quickly grabbed the phone. "Girardi."

"Will Girardi, you old lasagna-baker, how the hell are you?"

"Bob, thanks for getting back to me."

"Hey, when I got your message, I was bowled over. It must be twenty years since we last spoke. I see you're in Maryland now. Are you and Helen still together?"

"Yes, and we have three kids—the youngest is sixteen."

"Wow, you're going to make me start feeling old. So what's up? What prompted a break in a twenty year gap?"

"Bob, this is going to sound odd, but do you remember much about your bachelor party?"

Bob laughed. "Not much—that was twenty-five years and two mariages ago. Say, you're still not sore about that stripper stealing your money, are you?"

"No, but she is the reason I called. I need to find that girl. She was going by the name of Jade. Is there any chance you or any of the other guys there that night would know how to contact her?"

"Considering how drunk we all were, I imagine most of the guys don't even remember there was a stripper. Will, I know the girl spent the night with you, but how could you be concerned about that now?"

"I'd rather not say. Bob, on the basis of our old friendship, can you help me? All I can say is that it's really important to me."

Bob Geiger hesitated and sighed heavily. His reluctance was like a physical presence. "Damn Will, I'd give anything not to have to tell you this. I do know what happened to Jade. She… Are you sure you want to hear this? It's not good."

"Bob, please, I have to know."

"Okay, some months after the party, there was a newspaper account about Jade. It seems she checked herself into the hospital, in labor. She didn't have any money or insurance, so she was put into the charity ward. She had the baby, a little girl, and everything seemed okay, but later that night…Jade committed suicide."

"Oh God. Oh God no…"

"These days they call it post partum depression, but people weren't as aware of it back then."

"That poor girl…"

"Yeah, they listed Jade's real name…uh, it's been a long time, but it was unusual. Oh yeah, Amber O'Rourke. I remember thinking even her real name sounded like a stripper's."

"Amber… Bob, how many months after the bachelor party did all of this happen?"

"Jeez, you're really testing my memory. I know it was before my first anniversary. Maybe seven or eight months after the party."

"Could it have been nine?"

"Nine? Yeah, I guess… Oh damn, nine? Will, you don't think that baby could have been yours?"

"It's beginning to look that way."

"I'm so sorry, buddy. Oh, there was a follow-up article a couple of weeks later. They couldn't find any relatives of Jade, and the baby went into the county system for adoption. After that, the records were sealed."

"Thank you Bob. Thank you."

Will hung up the phone and tried to come to grips with this information. The baby girl must have been adopted, and the new parents obviously named the child after her natural mother. The woman who had killed herself after bearing his child--the last straw in a horribly burdensome life. The woman Will had used and discarded without a second thought. He had been young, drunk and had had an itch. She had meant no more to him than that. He felt ill.

X X X X X

Later that afternoon, in the Girardi garage, Helen looked at her attempt to duplicate Mason's work and was disgusted. This was her third try and it was terrible. Normally her portrait work was quite good, but she couldn't come to grips with this painting—and it wasn't just because Amber and Joan looked so much alike. It was the emotions that were defeating her.

Mason's style was radically different from hers, very bold and technically proficient, but it wasn't so complex that it was beyond her skill level. It was the way he felt about Amber that she couldn't duplicate. Mason's work revealed a passionate, almost obsessive worship of his model. The only emotion Helen's attempts were displaying was anger.

She hated the way she felt, but the thought that Will had had another child by some other woman completely pissed her off. And it was only going to get worse. Will wouldn't be able to let this go, and that meant Jade and her bastard daughter would be a part of their lives from now on. How she wished she had never met Mason or had seen his work.

Helen painted a big black 'X' over her latest effort and tossed it into the discard pile. To hell with Mason and Eric Goetz. She would paint the portrait in her own style and with her emotions honestly displayed. She didn't care how badly Goetz criticized her efforts.

"Mom! What the hell are you doing?"

Helen turned and saw her stunned daughter pointing at Mason's painting. "Joan, what are you doing home so early?"

"Early? It's after five and my shift at the bookstore is over."

"After five? Wow, the time really got away from me. I have to get started on dinner."

"Whoa lady, you're not going anywhere until you explain this."

"Joan, is that any way to talk to your mother?"

"It is when she paints me like…like this! What were you thinking? All my life you've pounded it into my head to dress modestly so I wouldn't entice any weirdos out there, and now you portray me naked?"

"Well, you did once say I should do nude portraits of the whole family."

"Not funny, Mom. Is this connected to that new art class you're taking?"

"Yes. Er, what do you think of it?"

"Well, shock value aside, it's beautiful. It's really different from anything you've done before, and it might be your best work. I love that you gave me red hair. I think I look damn hot."

"Enough of that, Miss Modesty. Do me a favor, and don't mention this to anyone else."

"Oooh, we're keeping secrets? Cool. But hey, from now on I don't expect any criticism if I wear a miniskirt or a plunging neckline. I mean, you've really stripped away the mystique of Joan Girardi."

"It's not that revealing." Helen grumbled as she covered the painting with a cloth. Before Joan could respond, Helen guided her by the elbow out of the garage and away from Mason's troublesome work.

X X X X X

Gasping for air, Mason awoke in the middle of the night. He held his hands up and searched his long, slender fingers for blood. In his dream there had been so much blood. Trembling and drenched in sweat, Mason automatically reached for the phone to call Berekley. No, what was he thinking? Instead, Mason followed the advice Berekley would have given if he were available. Take a hit off your inhaler, calm down and try to get some sleep.

Sleep? That was impossible now that the nightmares had returned. Damn that Girardi woman and her look-a-like daughter. He felt ill knowing what was coming. The spiraling downward into the dark, ugly depths of his soul. It would keep getting worse until he did the one thing that would make it stop. Mason looked again at his hands and imagined the new blood that would be there.

In the top drawer of his desk was a new sketchbook just like the kind Berekley use to buy him. All he needed was a name to go on the front cover. Perhaps the name that was now so often in his head... Joan.

TBC PLEASE REVIEW


	4. Chapter 4

PART FOUR

7-8-05/Friday Afternoon

Eric Goetz's second class was every bit the nightmare that his students expected. Four had already dropped out before class started, and six more left during the class (half of them in tears). Goetz reveled in his sarcasm as he savagely tore at the talent, technique and vision of each student's effort.

Mason's reproduction of Helen's abstract was a mediocre effort at best. The only challenge had been the blending of colors, which he had done to perfection. Otherwise, he had no interest in abstract paintings, and his work showed it. Goetz eagerly began his diatribe against Mason, but when he saw the young man was utterly indifferent to the criticism, he cut it short and ended with a simple, "It's crap."

Helen was next, and Goetz paused a long time as he compared Mason's original with Helen's work. Helen had freely poured out all her emotions into her painting, and it showed. Instead of the pretty, alluring, yet still innocent girl of Mason's piece, Helen had shown Amber to be a hard, experienced seductress who was use to getting her own way. One look at the girl and you immediately knew she was trouble.

Goetz smiled and made only one comment, "Finally, someone gets it."

As Goetz moved on to his next victim, Helen breathed a sigh of relief. That was short-lived when she saw how angry Mason was. He was outraged by this assault on his beloved model, and Helen was deeply regretting her new work. The guilt had actually started last night when Will had informed her of Jade's tragic fate, and now she had made livid the guy she was trying to seek co-operation from.

The class wrapped up with a new assignment. Available in the bookstore was a book by Goetz that showed his 100 greatest paintings. The assignment was to pick out the best of these paintings and explain why it was the best, and pick out the worse and explain why it was the worse. And, oh yes, paint a better version of the worse one. Good luck and see you on Tuesday.

Goetz smiled broadly at the groan of his students. Helen thought the man was a sadist, but conceded that if she survived a month of his instruction, she would come out of the ordeal a better artist. Hastily she exited the classroom in pursuit of Mason, who had only showed up to retrieve his painting. His escape was blocked by a very determined Will Girardi, who made certain his police badge was clearly visible on his belt.

It took some effort to persuade Mason to join them. They offered coffee. He didn't drink it. Lunch? He had to get to work. They would drive him, or meet him afterwards. Anything, as long as they could talk. Mason didn't want to arouse suspicion, so he agreed to a brief private conversation.

They found a secluded corner of the student lounge, and Will honestly confessed his one night stand with Jade, and his certainty that Amber was his daughter. As Mason listened to this middle-aged man's sleazy confession from his youth, Mason absorbed what his words meant to him. Just as he had always suspected, Amber was real, but surprisingly this gave him a ray of hope.

Mason had "murdered" over a dozen women, and the flashback memories he experienced of those crimes were as real to him as any of his memories of Amber. Just because Amber was real, didn't mean her murder was any more true than his other homicide fantasies. Maybe she was still living in Portland and wondering what ever became of the weird artist boyfriend of hers. It was a slender hope, but one he desperately clung to.

"Mason, did you hear me? I asked if you could help us find Amber." Helen said.

When something was important to him, Mason could force himself to make eye contact. He did so now. "Yes, I heard you, and no, I won't help you."

Will asked, "Why not? Don't you think I have a right to meet my own daughter?"

"If she is your daughter. So far this is just wild speculation based on the co-incidence of an encounter in Portland twenty-five years ago and a resemblance to your girl, Joan."

"It's more than a resemblance." Helen said as she removed a recent photograph of Joan from her purse and placed it in Mason's hands.

Mason gawked in astonishment at the photo. They were virtual twins. The image so clearly reminded Mason of Amber's laughter, passion, beauty and most of all, her blood. Trembling, he dropped the photo and reached for his inhaler.

Will picked up the picture and nodded his sympathy. "Yes, it is startling, isn't it? So, now are you convinced?"

Mason hesitated, desperate to deny the Girardis. "How do I know you people didn't photoshop that picture to make Joan look more like Amber?"

"That's absurd. If you want, I'll take you over to Skylight Books so you can see Joan in person."

"No, no that's not necessary. I'm just grasping at straws because I think it would be a bad idea for you to contact Amber."

"Don't you think that's something she should decide?"

"Except that you will be making the choice for her. You see, Amber is an only child, who is proud of her ROMANIAN heritage. She has no idea she is an Italian/Irish mix, because she doesn't know she's adopted!"

Helen asked, "Mason, are you sure?"

"Well, she never stated she was not adopted, but my conclusion is sound. I still care about Amber, and I won't be a part of dropping this bombshell on her life."

Will said, "Even without your help, eventually we will find her. We know she lives in Portland and works at an insurance company. It's only a matter of time until we meet."

"No matter what emotional turmoil it causes?"

"Maybe you don't understand about family ties, but my child is out there somewhere, and I have to connect with her. I realize how much this might disrupt her life, but we will be as gentle as possible when we break the news to her. She's a grown woman, and she deserves to know the truth."

"I think your own feelings of guilt are clouding your judgment. If you had perspective on the trauma you are about to inflict, you'd reconsider. I can't do anything about your search for Amber, but I won't help you."

With that, Mason grabbed his painting and hastily walked away.

X X X X X

Later that afternoon, Joan sold a couple of magazines to a shy, ordinary looking guy about ten years older than her. The customer, instead of leaving, settled into a comfortable chair with a clear view of the cashier's stand. Well, customers were free to read in the store if they liked, and Joan was too busy to give the guy another thought. However, about an hour later, Joan noticed the guy was still there and he had a sketchbook out and was obviously drawing her picture.

No one had sketched her since her break-up with Adam, and the attention was flattering. Since there was a lull in business, Joan went over to the unknown artist, settled in the chair opposite him and gave him her prettiest smile.

"So, am I your model?"

"I hope you don't mind."

"I guess not. I'm Joan."

"Mason."

"Can I have a peek?"

"Not until it's finished!" Mason said rather harshly.

Joan smiled again. "I'm familiar with that rule. My ex-boyfriend was an artist, and he never wanted me to look at a work in progress. He said it interrupted the creative flow."

"He was right, but I'm almost done with my third sketch."

"Three in only an hour? You're quick."

With a few last strokes, Mason finished and handed his sketchbook over to Joan. She examined the three pictures and became openly nervous. If there hadn't been others in the store, she would have been scared.

"You…you have a very distinctive style, one that I've seen before."

"Then you saw my painting?"

Joan gulped hard and replied, "Yes, but how do you know what I look like…naked!"

Mason smiled and said, "It's time you knew about Amber."

X X X X X

Later that evening, the four other Girardis were gathered in their foyer, impatiently checking their watches and occasionally glancing at the front door. When Joan entered, there was a collective sigh of relief.

"Joan honey, you're so late. We were beginning to get worried." Helen said.

"I walked home. I needed some fresh air to clear my head."

"Did you forget it's restaurant night?" Will asked.

"Oh yeah, good ol' restaurant night where we all gather for some family bonding. But isn't someone missing? Oh yeah, our sister Amber!"

Will and Helen stared blankly, unprepared for this moment.

"What's she talking about?" Luke asked.

"Yeah, is Joan going crazy again?" Kevin added.

"Who are the crazy ones here? It's bad enough our parents hid a half-uncle from us for years, but now they're hiding the existence of a half-sister."

"You've been talking to Mason." Helen said.

"Yeah, I had to learn from a stranger that Dad has another kid somewhere. Tell me Mom, are there any hidden members of the Brodie clan out there, or is this uniquely a Girardi trait?"

"Joan, it's not like that. We weren't going to keep this secret." Helen replied.

"Dad, is this true?" Luke asked.

Will sighed and nodded. "We believe so, but we only found out about Amber this week, and we're still not sure she is my daughter."

Joan snorted derisively. "Dad please, I saw the painting. Amber and I are virtual twins. You know in your heart that she's my sister."

"Dad, how is this possible?" Kevin asked.

Helen quickly interceded. "Look, we're all hungry and ready to go out, so why don't we put this off until we get to Marvin's. I promise we will tell you all we know."

Everyone seemed to agree with this idea, and Luke and Kevin were the first out the door, whispering to each other.

"What a bizarre situation." Luke said.

Kevin nodded. "At least we have a chance at a sister who's not nuts."

Will and Helen began to follow, but noticed Joan wasn't budging. Arms folded, she declared, "I don't want to spend time with people I can't trust."

Helen protested, "Joan, don't be like that. I'm sorry we couldn't immediately tell you about Amber, but we were never going to lie to you."

"Really Mom? Were you being honest when you let me think Mason's portrait was yours, and that I was the model?"

Helen wanted to argue the point, but Joan's lip was quivering, and she didn't want to deal with her daughter's tears. "We will talk about this when we get back."

As they exited, Helen murmured to Will, "I guess Mason proved his point."

Will replied, "Maybe so, but I'd like to punch him for the way he went about it."

The moment her parents left, Joan stamped her foot in frustration. She wanted to punch something or smash something, but was too well raised for that. She picked up the TV remote, but just as quickly tossed it on the couch. She wasn't in the mood for TV. She drifted into the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator. She was hungry, but was too upset to eat. She knew what she wanted—to know more. Joan reached into her pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. Mason had jotted down his address with an offer to talk at any time. Yes, that was where she would go, to the person who had the answers. Apparently, the one person she could trust. Mason.

TBC PLEASE REVIEW


	5. Chapter 5

PART FIVE

When Mason opened his door to Joan, he wasn't surprised to see her. Like a moth to a flame, they always came to him.

"I want to know more about my sister." Joan said.

"Of course. I'd invite you in, but we would be…alone." Mason said as he blushed.

Joan smiled. "My sister trusted you enough to let you paint her in the nude. I think I can trust to be behind closed doors with you."

Mason waved her in, and Joan took a quick look around the loft apartment. The furniture was sparse, but of good quality. Near the center of the room was an easel with a work in progress. Joan recognized it as a reproduction of a Miles Davis album cover. In fact, there were hundreds of jazz albums filling the shelves that lined one wall. Joan knew from Adam that many jazz enthusiasts preferred vinyl over digital, thinking that there was a richer, truer sound reproduction.

There was only one painting on the walls—the nude of Amber. Joan stood before her sister's portrait and stared at it. There were subtle differences between them she hadn't noticed before, but still the resemblance was amazing. Some how knowing this was Amber rather than her own near-identical body made the situation less weird.

"It's a beautiful painting."

"I had a beautiful model. Would you like to sit down?"

Joan sat on the couch and Mason settled in a chair opposite her. Almost automatically, he grabbed his sketchbook and began to draw.

"I hope you don't mind."

Joan shrugged. "Like I told you, my ex was an artist, and I'm used to being sketched. So, were you in love with Amber?"

"Yes. She was the perfect contrast to my life."

"So what happened?"

Mason shrugged. "Opposites may attract, but they have a hard time maintaining a long-term relationship."

Joan thought of her relationship with Adam, and nodded her agreement. "Tell me about my sister."

Mason smiled at his first memory. "She was a happy, energetic, outgoing, tender person. The bumps of life upset her terribly, but never for long. She just enjoyed life too much."

"How did you meet?"

"At work. We were both telemarketers at an insurance company, but on different floors. When weather permitted, I would eat lunch on a bench outside. I'm kind of shy, and I wasn't comfortable with the other people in the break room. Amber was brand new, and hadn't made any friends yet, so she decided to eat outside too. She saw me working on a sketch during lunch, and sat on the same bench. I was startled when she spoke to me."

"Did you like her right off?"

"Very much, although I had a difficult time expressing it."

"A girl usually knows."

"I suppose she did, because she kept coming back. I started sketching her, and I eventually was able to speak to her, that is…with eye contact." Mason smiled again. "I remember one of our earliest conversations. Amber was upset, even crying a little. She had been chewed-out for not reaching her sales quota, and she was warned she could even lose her job. Amber confided to me that she was so upset, she spit in her supervisor's coffee!"

Joan laughed. "She didn't!"

"Oh she regretted it afterwards, and I was understanding. There was a lot of pressure with the job. A few days later, she made her quota for the first time. On the walk home, she was literally laughing and dancing in the rain."

Joan smiled at that. She was beginning to like this unknown sister, and was looking forward to meeting her.

X X X X X

Meanwhile, the four other Girardis were arriving home after enjoying garlic cheeseburgers at Marvin's. Kevin went straight to his room to finish working on an article for the paper's Sunday supplement. Luke also headed upstairs so he could I.M. Grace. He was eager to fill her in on the latest family drama. Helen requested he check on Joan for her. While Will prepared a couple of drinks for them, Helen went to check that the back door was locked. From the back stairs, Luke called down to her…

"Hey Mom, Joan's not upstairs."

"Thanks Luke." Helen replied as she went to the refrigerator door. Sure enough, she found a note from Joan. Concerned, she returned to the den and found Will checking his e-mail.

"No Joan?" he asked.

"She left the required note, but I don't like what it says. 'Went to visit Mason'."

"I don't like that either. Joan should know better than to visit the home of a man she just met."

"Mason seems harmless enough…" Helen murmured as she quickly dialed Joan's cell. "Voice mail. Joan, call us right away or come home. You have us worried."

"I don't suppose you know where he lives?"

"No, Mason isn't the type to open up about details of his life." Helen said as she dialed information. Moments later she reported, "He's not listed. Maybe we are worrying over nothing. Mason is such a dull, quiet type."

Will thought of the numerous times in his career when he had heard those sentiments expressed about someone who had just snapped, but he didn't want to worry Helen. He nodded his agreement and turned back to his computer.

"Hey, I've already got a response from Bob Geiger to the e-mail I sent."

"What did you send him?"

"A photo that showed Amber's face from Mason's damn painting. He was going to distribute it to insurance companies in the Portland area. Could he have found her already? Let's see… 'Will, the picture you sent seemed immediately familiar, and then I remembered where I had seen her face. See the attachment, and Will…I am so sorry'."

With an enormous feeling of dread, Will opened the attachment. Helen read over Will's shoulder.

"A missing person flier? Oh God, Amber has been missing since late December."

"And a missing co-worker has been named by Portland P.D. as a 'person of interest'. MASON, that son of a bitch!"

"Oh Will, Joan is with him. What can we do?"

"The college! He must have registered for that class."

"There's no one in the offices at this time of night… Goetz. He keeps info cards on his desk so he can tell his students apart. The cards have all of our registry information."

"Where do we find Goetz?"

"Ryan said he was providing him with a suite at the Wentworth Hotel."

As Helen again reached for the phone, Will imagined the nightmarish things Mason might be doing to his precious girl.

X X X X X

"Your peanut butter sandwich. Sorry I don't have anything else."

"This is fine. I'm sorry to be a bother, but I skipped dinner. Say, did I see you sniff the peanut butter?"

"I wanted to be sure it was fresh."

"Does peanut butter ever go bad?"

"Probably not. Amber once said if there was a nuclear war, the only things that would survive were cockroaches and peanut butter."

Joan chuckled and watched as Mason grabbed his sketchbook again. She was beginning to like him. He was intelligent and talented and not bad looking. She could see how her sister had become intrigued by him. Plus, he evoked an almost overwhelming instinct to mother him. And he was becoming more confident with her. He no longer blushed, and he even made occasional eye contact. It was too bad he was ten years older. It would be interesting to kiss him.

As Joan ate her sandwich, Mason rattled on about every detail he could remember about his brief romantic relationship with Amber. Feeding ducks in the park, going to a revival of 'It's a Wonderful Life,' and on and on… He was just stalling until he could finish this last, most vital sketch. It had been months since he had sketched this pose, which was always the last one. It was the pose that got Amber killed. He had warned her. He told her the rules—no peeking until it's finished! He just had to draw it, but with Amber, he hadn't intended to go through with it. Not with her.

Carefully, and with loving detail, Mason sketched Joan in the slaughter pose. The exact pose in which he had found his mother's naked, bloodied corpse when he was a boy. It had been such a long time, and he was eager for Joan to see it.

X x x x x

"Please Mr. Goetz, do you have the addresses of your students or not?" a frustrated Helen asked. The man was drunk again.

"Yes, yes they're here somewhere, um, Mrs.?"

"Girardi. Helen Girardi—you know, Ryan's friend?"

"Oh of course…Ryan. Saved my life, ya know?"

"Sir, the addresses!"

"Of course, er, Helen. Here we are, 2320 Euclid."

"Not my address! I need the address of one of the other students. A man named…"

"Mason."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Stands…stands to reason. He's a psychopath. He's bound to have caused trouble."

"You knew he was crazy?"

"Certainly. Saw it the first time I looked at his art. It's why I included him in the class. To…keep thing from getting dull. Mark my words, some day that young man will snap and hurt someone. Better keep your distance, dear lady."

"His address?"

"Oh, it's 1462 Peach Street, where ever that is…"

Helen had already hung up and had blurted out the address to Will. Hastily, they headed for the front door while Will called the police dispatcher on his cell.

"This is Captain Girardi. Dispatch a unit to 1462 Peach Street, child endangerment in progress. They have my authorization to force entry…"

X X X X X

Mason waited with great anticipation as Joan looked at his last sketch. She reacted faster than the others. She forcefully threw the sketchbook at him, striking him in the nose. Instantly, she was up and running for the door, but Mason could be amazingly quick and strong at these times.

He slammed Joan into the door and then struck her a hard blow. She sagged to the floor, and he began dragging her towards the bathroom . It was always best to do this in the bathroom. There was going to be a lot of blood.

"No! No! Mason, please stop! Don't do this. For Amber's sake, please don't do this."

Mason hesitated. Yes, he really had murdered Amber, but it wasn't because he didn't love her. He did. And it wasn't even because she had seen the slaughter pose. No, he finally realized why. In the end, he had killed her because…he was what he was.

Mason resumed dragging Joan into the bathroom. She kicked and clawed and struggled with all her strength—for all the good it did her. She yelled and called out, "God! God help me!" Mason smiled. At the end, they all sounded the same. With grim determination, he slammed the door shut.

TBC PLEASE REVIEW


	6. Chapter 6

EPILOGUE

Someone tapped Mason on the shoulder. He awoke with a gasp and automatically tried to check his hands for blood, but his hands were restrained. They were strapped to the sides of his hospital bed. Confused, Mason looked about and recognized a familiar, friendly face.

"Berekley, is that really you?"

"Hey buddy, they tell me you've been having some rough nights."

"What are you doing here? Did they bring you all the way from Portland?"

"Mason, we're in Portland. Remember the trial?"

Mason's blank expression showed that he did not.

"What happened to Joan?"

Berekley sighed and tried to stay calm. "Mason, not this again. How many times do I have to tell you, there is no Joan, and no place called Arcadia. Remember the last time I was here, I brought a map of Maryland? We went over every square inch of that map. There's no town called Arcadia."

Mason tried to concentrate, but the medication they gave him made thinking difficult. "Amber?"

"Amber was real. You killed her and then fled the city by bus. They caught you before you could get across the state line. You were found not guilty by reason of insanity, and you've been in this asylum ever since."

Tears were flowing down Mason's cheeks. "And the others?"

"They were all real. The police estimated between 12 and 15 women over the last few years. Mason, I'm so sorry. I should have been looking after you better. I should have gotten you the help you need, but I really thought it was all in your head."

Yes, Berekley had a lot of regrets there. Only by co-operating with the authorities had he avoided prosecution himself. The scandal had rocked the company, had cost him his job and his highly mortgaged home, as well as every friend he had. The lawsuits against him were mounting, and his future looked very bleak.

Still, he felt sorry for Mason. The poor guy never had a chance in life. After all of those murder confessions that he thought were in Mason's head, now he was confined to this asylum where he really was experiencing one murder fantasy after another. This Joan of Arcadia was his latest obsession.

Mason was becoming more agitated. Sometimes his visits helped, and sometimes they aggravated him more. Mason started to gasp for air.

"Here buddy, take a hit off your inhaler, calm down and try to get some more sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Mason nodded gratefully and soon drifted off to sleep.

X X X X X

Someone tapped Mason on the shoulder. He awoke with a gasp and automatically raised his hands, looking for blood. There was none.

"Sorry to startle you young fella, but it's the end of the line."

Mason looked up and saw a middle-aged, African- American man hovering over him. He looked vaguely familiar.

"Where…where am I?"

"Denver. This is the main terminal, and you'll have to transfer to another bus if you want to continue your trip. Have you picked a destination yet?"

"Destination?"

"Yeah, remember? I told you that open ticket of yours lets you travel to any place in the country. Picked a spot yet?"

Mason paused to think. Berekley and the asylum had just been a dream. Or was this the dream? He didn't know, and he didn't care. He just knew where his destiny awaited.

"Is there a city called Arcadia?"

"Of course there is. A good sized city in the western part of Maryland. In fact, my niece Rebecca lives there. Is that where you're headed?"

Mason nodded. "Yes, that's where I have to go. Arcadia."

THE END. PLEASE REVIEW.

I hope you enjoyed my JoA/Spiral crossover. If you haven't seen Spiral, I recommend it. Amber Tamblyn turns in an excellent performance, and the movie is definitely a cut above the usual independently made horror film.


End file.
